Chronophobia
by wilfred the pickle
Summary: Chance's world begins to crumble around him when he investigates his newfound abilities. [Major spoilers for Exposure! Semi-sequel to He Who Fights Monsters, so read that first. Semi-character study of Chance.]


**A/N: This is a sequelto another Virals fic of mine, **_**He Who Fights Monsters**_**. While reading that (cough and reviewing cough) isn't necessary to understanding this fic, you should totally read it (cough and like review and stuff cough) because that would be awesome and would make you awesome. Plus, it'll make things a heck of a lot easier.**

**This follows on directly from the end of **_**He Who Fights Monsters. **_**If you haven't read it (cough lol you should cough), then this takes place right after Chance discovers he's now contracted the will probably all be contradicted by Terminal but I don't even care because I'm allowed my head canons, dammit. It's also a twoshot instead of a oneshot for now (or maybe a threeshot if I have enough ideas) but once I'm sure the entire thing is complete I'll probably merge it into one chapter and revise it a little.**

**Warning: contains a little bit of language.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Chance knows that he's <em>really <em>screwed up this time.

Helping his father cover up a murder he'd committed years ago? Bad, but only for himself. Almost aiding his ex-girlfriend with the murder of four teenagers? Bad, but eventually he turned around. Breaking out of a mental facility and trespassing on private property to help said teenagers find buried treasure? Well, they _found _the treasure, and he got a small share of it - not too bad.

Infecting himself and possibly several others with a mysterious virus that could very well be life-threatening? Not his smartest move to date.

He inhales, exhales, and slides down the bathroom wall so that his back rests heavily against the smooth tiles.

_You had one job, Claybourne. One job._

The tiles opposite him are so polished that he can see his face in them - and by extension, the red light of his eyes shining, like they're mocking him.

_You could have stopped this, _he hears his father say.

He clenches his fists.

_You've failed again. Is that all you can do?_

He digs his nails into his palms, ignoring the blood that begins to drip.

_I can't have a failure for a son. The Claybourne family has no place for you._

He snaps, right fist clenching harder than it should be physically possible and slamming into the tiles, watching as they shatter, pieces falling onto the bathroom floor. He hears a deafening crack, then feels the most unbelievable pain coursing through his hand and wrist. He hisses as he draws it back, eyeing the damage he's done to the wall. Surprisingly, he's managed to punch through the entire wall and make a large hole that he can see the adjacent living room through.

His hand hurts like hell, his knuckles are bleeding, he can't move his fingers, and now there's a giant unexplainable hole in his bathroom wall.

He's halfway through thinking _is this even physically possible? _before the light from his eyes suddenly fades, leaving him dizzy and fatigued. Exhausted, he slumps over onto the floor, head surrounded by crushed plaster and small specks of blood.

It's some time later that he wakes up, bleary-eyed and right hand hurting like the devil. After a quick inspection in the mirror, he's glad to see that his eyes aren't glowing that terrifying crimson, though they are incredibly bloodshot. The digital clock on the windowsill reads 5:43 in the morning. That's just enough time for Chance to eat, shower, and go to work, before signing out early to "deal with some family issues".

Then, he'll get his wrist checked out, get some painkillers, and call the repairman, just like nothing has changed.

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><p>He goes to visit Madison Dunkle in the afternoon.<p>

The staff at Marsh Point Psychiatric Hospital are surprisingly lenient towards him, considering he ended his stay there prematurely and generally acted like an asshole while he _was _there. They let him through to the "artist's retreat", as Doctor Guzman called it, where Madison is already waiting for him. Her eyes widen once she sees him, biting her lip.

"How did you know I would be here?"

"You called me the night before you were admitted. Remember?" Chance prompts. He doubts she does; she sounded hysterical in the call she made, ranting about golden eyed and mind control.

She avoids the question. "What's with your arm?" she asks suspiciously, pointing to the bandage that covers Chance's right arm from wrist to elbow.

"This? I sprained it falling off a ladder. Hurts like a bitch."

"Does Tory know I'm here?" She spits out the girl's name like it's a disease. Fitting, he thinks, unfortunately aware of the irony.

"I don't believe so." He doubts it, anyway. It's possible she might know, but he's reasonably sure that Ashley and Courtney wouldn't throw their friend under the bus like that. Or maybe they would. The dynamics in the Tripod - yes, he calls them that too, and will blame Tory for it until the day he died - are shifting rapidly, and with Madison incarcerated, Ashley is sure to be the new queen bee.

Madison looks visibly relieved and exhales deeply, leaning forward on her elbows. "What about anyone else from school?"

"Unlikely, unless Ashley and Courtney have told everyone."

"I told them that if they did, I would tell everyone how Ashley peed her pants in freshman year. Do you think that's good enough blackmail?"

"You're too cruel," he smiles thinly, taking a seat. "Not much has changed since when I was here."

"Why are you here?" Madison snaps, demeanor changing swiftly. "I don't want your pity."

Chance mock-winced, berating himself silently. _Well, I was going to try and not be a cocky asshole, but I guess that part of me's just ingrained in my soul. _"Relax, Dunkle. I want to know how you're doing."

"And you couldn't just call the doctor and ask?" she scowls. "It's bad enough having anyone I know see me like this. And how do I know you're not going to tell everyone how terrible I look?"

"Because I'm not you," he answers simply. "I want to know how you are, and maybe give you some tips on coping. We were both brought here for the same reason, you know."

She pauses, barely breathing. "Tory?" she asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, feeling the guilt beginning to seep in. "Tory."

Madison sniffles slightly, wipes her eyes. She coughs before beginning to speak again. "Are we both crazy?" she whispers thinly, looking him dead in the eye.

"No," he says simply. "We saw what we saw."

"I don't think I can believe that," she says, looking down at her lap where her fingers are curling against one another, a restless habit she's picked up. "Not if I'm going back to Bolton Prep."

Chance's phone bleeps, his cue that something's come up at the office. He takes a quick glance at it to satisfy Madison, then stands to leave. "I'm sorry, something's come up at work. I have to leave."

Madison looks like she's about to persuade him to stay, but decides against it. "Thank you for coming here," she says begrudgingly, like it pains her to admit it. Deep down, she's still the same old prideful Madison Dunkle.

Chance nods. "I'll come back. If you want me to, that is."

He's surprised when Madison nods tentatively. "That would be nice. And, uh, Chance?"

"Yes?" he asks, standing in the doorway.

"Find out what they're playing at for me." It doesn't take a genius to realise who she's talking about.

He smiles thinly. "I'm working on that."

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><p>Second chapter should be up in a week or so. So should another chapter of another Virals fic of mine, Coping Mechanisms, which I finally managed to retrieve from the depths of my hard drive! After like six months. Oops.<p>

Thank you for reading!


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